


Of Severed Thumbs and Sick Psychics

by Thebloomaster



Category: Psych
Genre: Caretaking, Coughing, Fever, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash, Sickfic, Sneezing, sick!shawn, sneeze fetish, sneezefic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-23 21:15:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13198704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thebloomaster/pseuds/Thebloomaster
Summary: Shawn Spencer has many gifts, but paying his bills in a timely fashion is not one of them.  Desperate for cash, as he's on the verge of being evicted from his apartment, Shawn takes on another difficult case.  Unfortunately, he isn't feeling well to begin with.  Shassie.





	1. Where is Thumbkin?

The Santa Barbara Police Station was business as usual.  Shawn Spencer, with his partner Danquisha Thecreasha (better known as Burton Guster)  had been hired once again as a consultant on a murder case.  A woman had been found dead in a local dumpster, with her face so horribly disfigured that she was nearly impossible to identify without DNA.  Her hair was caked with dried blood, and the pads of her fingers had been severed. Shawn looked at the pictures as his best friend tried not to vomit from disgust.  He noted that she was wearing an expensive-looking bracelet, and that her entire right thumb was missing.  There were red marks on her wrists.  According to the coroner’s report, there was no evidence of sexual assault, and the cause of death was blunt force trauma.

 

“Mr. Spencer?” Chief Vick questioned.  It was unlike him to be silent for this long.  Shawn looked up and noticed that Carlton Lassiter was staring with mild amusement.  

 

“Yes, Chief?”  He returned. Shawn ignored the throbbing behind his skull as he got ready to improvise.  After regaining his composure, Gus appeared at the psychic detective’s s side.  

 

There was a beat of dead silence before Shawn and Lassiter began to speak at the same time.

 

“Spencer, if you don’t have anything usef—”

 

“WHERE IS THUMBKIN?  WHERE IS HE?”  Shawn ignored the bewildered stares, and continued.  “The spirits are telling me...that... her _thumb_ is the precious thing here.”  

 

“We can all see that it’s missing, Spencer,” Head Detective Carlton Lassiter growled.

 

“ _Mr. Spencer,”_ Chief Vick repeated, in a more serious tone, “I called you in here to see if you could get an ID on the body.  Now, if all you have are vague notions...I’d suggest you leave.”

 

Stunned at the chief’s curt dismissal, Shawn was speechless.  Juliet shot him a sympathetic look, while her partner looked even more amused.  Shawn let his hand wilt down to his hip.  “I’ll see what I can divine.”

 

Walking out of the office, Shawn could feel Gus’ eyes burning holes into his back.

 

“ _Dude_ , what was that in there?  You were so off your game,” Gus said once they were out of earshot of the others.  

 

“Gus, don’t be the bear of bad news—”

 

“Bear _er_ —”

 

“I’ve heard it both ways,” Shawn deflected, raising his hand.  “Don’t worry...I’ve got a few ideas.”

 

***

 

Save for getting tacos for only $1.13 each, the day was almost a complete bust.  The only thing Shawn had concluded was that the murderer wasn’t a petty theft, as he or she had left the golden bracelet around the victim’s fragile wrist.  He also didn’t appear to be a rapist, although the woman had been tied up, at least at the wrists.   As for her identity, the coroner’s report estimated that she was in her mid-twenties, with which Shawn would concur, and that it seemed as if her hair had been recently highlighted.  Even that was a pathetic lead, and he knew it: there were so many hair salons and barber shops in the area, and there was no way of knowing at which one she had gotten her last hairdo.  Not to mention that he didn’t even know where she lived!  With this information buzzing around his head, the pseudo psychic allowed himself to fold into himself on the Psych Office couch.

 

“ _Shawn_ , what’s going on here?  You’re acting kinda...off today.”

 

“Nothing, buddy, I just have a headache.  We’ll just hit up the station tomorrow.”

 

Gus wasn’t convinced.  He took a seat next to his best friend.  “Did something happen between you and your dad?”  

 

Shawn grimaced, he actually hadn’t spoken to his dad in the past week or two.  “Nah, I probably should call him later...next week...month.”

 

Gus shook his head.  If he knew Shawn, he knew that the pseudo psychic would consult his dad at some point about this case.  Realizing that it was getting close to dinner time, Gus suggested that they order a pizza.  

 

***

 

Shawn collapsed into his bed.  It was hours before his usual slumber; clearly the day had taken its toll.  He shivered slightly, wrapping the blankets around himself.  Those utility bills _really_ needed to be paid.  Gus had already banned him from using his credit card, and the past month had not been kind to him casewise.  The notion of Psych closing down had crossed his mind more times than he would’ve liked to admit, but he wasn’t a pessimist by nature.  He closed his eyes and let sleep claim him.

 

His headache was not gone in the morning, but instead grew to a damn near migraine.  There was a tender spot in his throat, as if he were wearing one of Gus’ mother’s hand-knitted scarves.  Rising, he felt a soreness in his thighs, and regretted all of the running around he had done yesterday.  Well, really he hadn’t run anywhere.  It was a lot of walking, though.

 

The Blueberry was parked across the street from his apartment.  Gus had been given the day off from work and apparently was  equally as antsy to find a lead in the case.  Shawn knew he had to try and pull it together, but he needed the car ride to compose himself.  Hoping that Gus wouldn’t comment, the psychic detective leaned back and closed his eyes.  

 

When they entered, something caught Shawn’s eye.  At the counter, Buzz McNabb was brewing a cup of coffee—four creams and three sugars—Shawn Spencer noted.  He uttered something vague about getting a cup of coffee to his partner.  He strolled over to the cop, straying from his partner-in-solving-crime, Gus.

 

“Hey, Buzz,” Shawn greeted, jovial as usual.  One wouldn’t think that anything was possibly going wrong in his wayward lifestyle.  He leaned an elbow on the counter.  As Buzz returned his sentiment.  The pseudo psychic struck his typical pose of raising a finger to his temple, “I’m sensing that this is for Lassie,” he said, hand over the top of the coffee, “I’ll bring it to him.”  

 

McNabb grinned, “That’s so nice of you Shawn, I think he’s in the chief’s office with Juliet.”

 

“ _Ah ah ah,”_ he said, wagging a finger. _“_ I know.”  

 

He didn’t.

 

Coffee cup warm in his hand, Shawn nodded a ‘goodbye’ to the officer.  Gus was at his side once again as they essentially barged into the chief’s office.  Shawn put on his classic smirk and sauntered over to the tall detective who, up until this point, had been listening intently to the chief.  Now the room was silent once again.  

 

“Hey all.  Lassie, you’re looking well today.  I have your diabetes-flavored coffee,” Shawn said, strutting over to the head detective.  Carlton glanced down at the paper cup, then gave the shorter man a deadpan look before begrudgingly accepting the offering.  Shawn sat on the edge of the chief’s desk.  “So, what’s the word?”  He glanced down and saw a newspaper.

 

_Robbery.  High security.  Potential inside job.  $500,000.  Woman under suspicion._

 

The words swirled in his aching head.  Absently, he rested the heel of his hand on his forehead, his elbow pushing into his sore thigh.  Lassiter, who had been cautiously taking a sip of coffee, shot him a sidelong glance.  

 

“Is something the matter, Mr. Spencer?”  Asked Chief Vick, ignoring his attempt at getting more information about the case.  

 

“ _Ah,_ the spirits are talking to me!  They’re saying...that…” Shawn trailed off and looked to Jules.  When he saw that she seemed to be interested in his vision, he continued, “Our victim, she worked at Erikson Bank!”  The newspaper flashed through his mind.  

 

“Erikson Bank?”  Juliet affirmed, ever helpful in Shawn’s hot reading. “That's the place that just got robbed.”

 

Shawn feigned a look of shock.  He raised an eyebrow at his best friend.  “Oh... _oh…_ I’m getting something!”  And he had the room again.  Well, maybe save for Lassie.  He crossed his wrists, hands in fists, and went over to the head detective.  Every movement was slow and deliberate, not just because he was sore, but for an increased dramatic effect.  “I feel her presence…“Diamond?  No…Pearl...no...no no.   _Crystal,_ yes...Crystal.”

 

“That’s right!”  Juliet affirmed, “Crystal Wallack…I’d just finished reading about that.”

 

Lassiter finished his coffee, bottoms up.  He put the empty cup on the chief’s desk.  Shawn locked eyes with him and began his act of “channelling” the dead woman.  In a childishly feminine voice he said, “Please...please let me go.”  He hovered over Lassiter and ignored the look of irritation in those icy blue orbs.  In a seductive fashion, he daintily placed a hand on the man’s shoulder.  “I’m no criminal,” he crooned, now running a thumb along Lassiter’s hairline. “I’m dead.”  Shawn began to spasm and flung himself in the direction of the head detective’s lap.

 

It was so impulsive that for a split second he thought he would hit the floor, but he was caught by two strong hands.  The landing had kind of hurt.  Shawn gasped then coughed, the wind knocked out of him.  Somehow his side had managed to smack against the man’s knee.  He was sure that Lassiter was shaking with rage.  Shawn was shaking, too, but it was more because of the A/C vent in the room.  He looked down at the detective’s arm which was snaked around his waist.  

 

“Are you saying that our vic was the woman suspected in the robbery?”  Karen Vick asked.

 

“No, no, no, Chief...That’s what _she’s_ saying.”

 

“Thank you, Mr. Spencer.  We’ll look into that,” she said.  “Good work.”

 

Shawn and Gus exchanged a glance.  The supposed psychic looked up at Lassiter, and flung his arms around his shoulders in an _extremely_ awkward embrace.  “Thanks for catching me, Las.  I haven’t channeled in a while.”

 

“Never mention it,” Carlton growled behind clenched teeth. Shawn knew he was pushing his luck, he was _really_ lucky that the head detective hadn’t thrown him to the floor.   When he sprung out of Lassie’s lap, he found himself missing the feeling of being held.  Lassiter was like a warm blanket when he wasn’t screaming in your face.  The department really was running up its electric bill with the excessive air conditioning today.  It must’ve been about fifty degrees in that office.  

 

Shawn rubbed his throat; apparently speaking in a high pitched voice wasn’t helping.

 

“You’d better be right about this Shawn,” Gus warned.  

 

“Aw, buddy, have I ever steered you wrong?”

 

“Yes.  Consistently.”

 

“Well, then you drive The Blueberry to her house,” he tossed the car keys to Gus.

 

“ _Shawn!_ When did you—never mind.”

 

***

 

It was always a thrill to arrive before the police.  A man answered the door.  He was rather handsome and was cooperative.  They hadn’t even had to say more than that they were with the SBPD.  Shawn noted that he was about as tall as Lassie, though the latter was less lanky, was blonde, and was sporting a goatee.  

 

Shawn and Gus knew better than to tell the man, Jason, that they suspected his fiance was the dead woman.  They were only here to ask about her disappearance.  

 

“And is there anyone who would have a reason to hurt Crystal?”  Shawn asked before stuffing a handful of hard pretzels into his mouth.  Jason had been kind enough to bring out refreshments for the interview.  One thing he appreciated about this line of work was the free food from witnesses.  Admittedly, he wasn’t even hungry, but he _had_ skipped breakfast.

 

“ _No,_ I really can’t think of anyone.  She’s close with her brother and his family, and she’s _never_ complained of any nasty coworkers or anything,” he paused.  “Crystal’s always been so loving and I couldn’t imagine her stealing so much as a stick of gum,” he said, rubbing his brows.  

 

“I don’t believe she’s stolen anything from the bank either, Jason,” Shawn replied in a more sincere tone.  

 

“This is just so unlike her,” Jason said, eyes to the carpet.  “She would never skip town without calling…She’s so devoted to her family.”  He handed them a picture of two women, a man, and a little boy with a baseball cap, and pointed to the woman on the end.  Shawn’s eyes darted to Crystal.   _Same bracelet.  Same highlights._ He cringed; though it was important for him to be right, it meant that this guy was going to be devastated.

 

“We’ll do everything we can to help,” Gus supplied, sympathy in his eyes.  Unlike Shawn, he refused to promise anything he wasn’t certain he could keep.  “Could we get your brother-in-law’s address?”

 

“Of course,” he rose quickly to duck into the kitchen.

 

When the man was out of earshot, Shawn faced Gus.  “Dude, that’s her.  For sure.”  He rubbed the underside of his nose with the back of his thumb.

 

“Poor guy,” Gus commented.

 

Jason came back with a piece of paper.  He slid it across the coffee table.  “Here’s the address, and my cell number is under it.  Please tell me if you find out more.”  

 

“Will do, thanks, Jas…” a tickle in Shawn’s nostrils cut him off, and he ducked his head into the crook of his elbow. “- _h’ETSHhih_!”  The two men offered ‘bless yous’, to which Shawn thanked before finishing his thought.  “We’ll be in touch.”

 

On the way back to Gus’ company car, Shawn realized that Gus was giving him a strange look.  

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing,” the pharmaceutical salesman replied.  “Looks like we have a solid lead.”  They fist bumped.  Shawn rested his forehead on his other fist, and gazed out the passenger window.  He couldn’t believe it was still only the afternoon.  

 

The song _Mr. Brightside_ came on the radio, and Gus turned it up two notches.  He was one of those people who couldn’t stand to have the volume on an odd number.  Shawn felt himself dozing off.  He tried putting his feet up on the dashboard only to receive a lecture from Gus.

 

“ _Uh_ uh.  No way, Shawn.  Feet down,” Gus took a deep breath, “It’s a _company car_ …safety hazard...If I’m reared from behind...then...snapped like toothpicks.”

 

Most of Gus’ speech was lost on Shawn, and it had turned into more of a soliloquy than anything else.  He wondered why Gus had the air conditioning on.  And then he was asleep.

 

***

 

It had only been a twenty minute drive to Crystal’s brother’s house.  It had taken Gus a few attempts to wake up his partner.  

 

“ _Shawn!_ Wake up!”  Gus repeated, shaking his friend’s shoulder.  Shawn was notorious for being a heavy sleeper, but this was ridiculous.  When he awoke, Shawn was disoriented for a moment.  

 

“Oh...Sorry dude.  I didn’t get that much sleep last night,” he lied.  It was just a habit at this point.  “Is this his house?”  Gus confirmed the statement.  They were about to leave The Blueberry, when they noticed a very familiar vehicle.

 

“Damnit,” Shawn groaned, “Look.”  

 

Gus shrugged, “Maybe we should try back later.  You look like you could use some coffee.”

 

“Yeah...or we could pay Lassie and Jules a visit, too.”

 

“No, Shawn.”

 

Shawn coughed, but smothered it with a chuckle.  “Yeah, we’ll come back later.”

 

***

 

“Dude, if you want a frappe, just get one,” Shawn said.  He had noticed that Gus was staring intently at that part of the menu.

 

“Frappuccinos are for teenage girls, Shawn.  I refuse to waste five dollars on a glorified milkshake.”

 

They ordered their generic coffees and took a seat.  At the same time they got their beverages, Shawn’s phone went off.  The obnoxious ringtone told them that it was Chief Vick.  He mentally kicked himself for not bringing a charger; his phone’s battery was getting dangerously low.

 

“They got a positive ID on the body,” Shawn said, hanging up.  He cleared his throat.  “They want us to come down again.”

 

“Did she _say_ that last part?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“You just want to go flirt with Juliet.”

 

Shawn tensed.  She wasn’t exactly the detective he was obsessed with seeing.  But the day he tells Gus that he has a thing for the man who hates him more than anybody else in the world, is the day that he tells all of the SBPD that he isn’t a real psychic.  Sure, Gus was accepting of his bisexuality, but he would be creeped out if he knew that he was crushing on an ill-tempered divorcee.  Also, Gus _still_ wasn’t convinced that Lassie didn’t kill that prisoner.  He thought back to Drimmer’s calling them former lovers.  He thought about his shirt that Lassie had worn—which by the way, he hadn’t washed.  Sometimes at night, he would replay the whole scene in his head.  Maybe things had been a little more blurry than usual, but he’d never forget the look of pride on the head detective’s face.

 

“I’m deeply offended that you think that,” he said in a way that sounded like a complete lie.  

 

It was more of a game anyway. The teasing, the body contact.  He longed for the days where they got to team up.  When there seemed like a real connection, like when they solved the hostage situation at the bank, that was what made Shawn feel alive.  When Lassie’s burns weren’t directed at him, and vice versa...that was the wall between them coming down.  And then they were just two people spending time together.  

 

But today was not one of those times.

 

***

 

 


	2. Warm Welcomes

“Spencer, what the hell are you doing here?”

 

How Shawn adored Lassie’s warm welcomes.  He told him so.  Gus elbowed him in the ribs.  Shawn started coughing over whatever Lassiter’s response was.

 

The psychic detective looked up to see the two men staring at him.

 

“What?”  Shawan started, “Jeez, we’re here because my _psychic vision_ helped the body to be IDed.”

 

At the moment the lanky detective opened his mouth to protest, his partner arrived.  Juliet’s hair was in a bun, and she had the case files in her hands.  “That’s right,” she said.  “The victim’s brother was able to identify her, and the dental records were a match.”

 

Two words appeared in Shawn’s inner eye.   _Dual identification._

 

“I’m sensing something,” he said, sniffling slightly.  “Her...card?  Christmas card?  Thank you card?  No...no..credit?   _No_...her ID card is missing.  The one that gets her into Erikson!  The killer still has it!”

 

Carlton rolled his eyes.  “We figured.  Unless you can tell us who has it, I think you’re done here.”

 

“Aw, Las,” Shawn said, looking up at the detective, “I know you want me here.”

The look on Lassiter’s face was dangerous.  “Let me show you two to the door.  Believe it or not, we’re busy.  And you two are not employees.”  He stuck a hand on Shawn’s far shoulder, and with his other hand grabbed his nearest elbow. Gus was allowed to walk freely.  Juliet brought the corners of her lips down, but turned away.   Shawn did not complain.  He mostly had come to see Lassie anyway.  

 

“Wait, le _hh_ t go for a sec,” Shawn said, voice wavering.  Vaguely aware of a snarky response from Lassiter, the pseudo psychic felt his restraints loosen. He ducked away to release three sneezes into the crook of his arm.  

 

Shawn caught a glimpse of something in Lassie’s eye.  Whether it was a look of one of aggravation, concern, or question, didn’t register.  But, Shawn felt like he was being scrutinized.  There was a brief moment where Lassiter was just lurking there, as if he had forgotten that he had been “escorting” the duo to the door.  It didn’t last long, as Lassiter went over to open the door for them.  

 

Shawn had started coughing the second they were outside of the police station.  He had to stop walking to double over into a fist.  Gus - he easily deducted - had started rubbing his back.  The notion that he would be coughing forever had crossed his mind, although in a sardonic way.  When the fit subsided, he knew that more than forty seconds hadn’t passed, but it felt like hours had passed.   His head throbbed.

 

“Are you coming down with something, Shawn?” Gus asked, voice laced with concern.

 

The way Shawn saw it, he had three main options in how to respond to that question: confirm it, deny it, or give a ridiculous response.  “Probably.”  So of course, not really any of the three.

 

Gus had offered to drive him home to rest, but Shawn refused.  He couldn’t even take a warm shower at his house, or watch _Thundercats_. Really, he wouldn’t be able to rest until this case was _solved._

 

***

 

While Gus had encouraged him to eat healthy, Shawn had only a bag of fritos for dinner.  They had dropped by Crystal’s brother and sister-in-law’s house just an hour before.  

 

“I just don’t think either of them did it, Shawn.”

 

“Dude, the wife was acting kinda _too_ normal, and the guy looked like he saw the spirit of his sister,” Shawn countered.  His voice had been growing hoarse all day.  

 

“People grieve in different ways.”

 

“Yeah, but dude, he reeked of guilt.  Also, did you see the way she was blocking the kitchen door with her body?”

 

“No,” Gus replied, “Not really.”

 

“Well, she really didn’t want us goi _ihng_ in th-there,” Shawn said, rubbing his nose.  An itch was building in his sinuses.  “It was just su- _hh_ spic... _H’EK_ t _shhuh!  --ESSH_ ue!”

 

“Bless you.”

 

“Thags,” Shawn said, punctuated with a liquid sniffle.  At the next red light, Gus fished around in the glove compartment and pulled out a travel pack of tissues.  Shawn accepted the offering and held the soft fabric against his reddening nostrils.  

 

“Are you _sure_ you wouldn’t rather go home?”  Gus asked,once his partner had finished blowing his nose.

 

“Yeah, I have some stuff I need to do.”

 

It was a lie, he just didn’t feel like taking a freezing shower at his apartment and then struggling to sleep,  At least there was air conditioning and heating at the Psych office.  Also, there were at least a few snacks...and a TV.

 

“Shawn, you sound like you could use a rest, I’m taking you home,” Gus protested, adjusting his route.  Shawn sighed.  There was no point in bringing up his situation at the apartment.

 

***

 

Shawn couldn’t tell if his apartment was _really_ that cold, or if he had a fever.  He had been suspecting the latter all day, but it wasn’t like he had a thermometer lying around.  Well, honestly, he probably _should_ have one.  Regardless, he wasn't about to walk to the drugstore to buy one.

 

Something was bothering Shawn, though.  Something about the woman’s body language gave away something.  He just couldn’t remember what it was.  His stellar eidetic memory was cloudy, and it was one of the most frustrating things he’d ever experienced.  Well, aside from _other_ difficult cases, and the sexual frustration he felt on almost a daily basis.

 

_Sometimes, kid...You just have to sleep on it._

 

He remembered his dad saying that when Shawn asked him how he should ask someone to the middle school dance.

 

Though he spent most of the night tossing and turning, he eventually did sleep.  

 

***

_Shawn had been walking.  He didn’t know where he was going, until he appeared in a familiar house.  It was the house of Crystal’s brother. Jake, he recalled._

 

_There was a woman laughing maniacally at a horribly disfigured body in a freezer.  And the body was screaming.  The discordance of the laughing and screaming was growing in intensity.  A little boy in a wheelchair was confused.  He said, “Where’s the ice cream, mommy?”_

 

_Fingers curled around an ice cream cone.  Blue fingers.  The child screamed.  Shawn was screaming.  His phone wasn’t working.  He kept dialing Lassie’s number, but to no avail._

 

_“You killed her,” Shawn said.  “You robbed the bank.  You did this.  You needed the money for your son.  Because of the car accident.”_

 

_The woman hissed in response.  She turned into a snake and curled her body around her husband’s hand.  The husband was shaking.  His skin began to crackle off.  The son held onto Shawn’s ankle as if his life depended on it.  A house of cards collapsed._

 

_Thumbs were crawling like inchworms.  They were creeping up the silver refrigerator, and rested on the freezer._

 

_Shawn was frozen.  His legs simply would not move.  Jake, with his snake wife, approached Shawn.  The pseudo psychic still couldn’t move.  Jake pulled a gun out from his belt._

 

_“Please...no...don’t shoot,” Shawn begged the abomination._

 

_Pow!_

 

Shawn awakened with a sharp gasp, which triggered a coughing fit.  Disoriented, he looked around.  His body was tangled in sheets, and he could feel that his spectacular hair was matted to his forehead with sweat.  Light was shining through his apartment window.  That had been one of his creepier dreams, for sure.

 

_Thumb...freezer…_

 

_The woman wasn’t just blocking the kitchen...she was...ohhh._

 

He forced himself out of bed, fighting the aches in his thighs and sides.  Someone needed to find the evidence before the woman got the sense to dispose of it somewhere.

 

By some miracle, he got to his phone, which had about 10% battery left.  He clicked on the ‘Lassie’ contact.  The light from the phone made his aching eyes water.  Blearlily, he typed “Chek jake freezr srs” before hitting send.  His eyes caught on the phone clock ‘6:00’.  Whether it was the morning or evening, it was honestly hard to tell, but by the way the light was coming through, he assumed it was the former.  He smirked.   _Lassie’s gonna be annoyed…_

 

But it really couldn’t wait.  This case _needed_ to be solved soon.  

 

As he drifted back to sleep, he failed to hear a few sounds.  The classic Lassie ring tone ringing over and over, and then finally the _beeping_ of his phone giving its final breath.

 

***

 

  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Lassie to the Rescue

Shawn was brought into consciousness by the sound of a loud banging on his door.  

 

“ _Spencer!”_ It sounded kind of like Lassie’s voice, “Open this door immediately!”  

 

Shawn groaned at the thought of getting up.   _But, Lassieeeee…_ He wriggled out of bed, and nearly collapsed on the floor.  Vision blurry, he grabbed the edge of the bed frame.  

 

“ _Spencer!”_

 

Shawn cleared his throat, the room still spinning.  “ _Coming_!” he replied, voice cracking.  Attempting to yell, had started yet another coughing fit, and he was afraid that he would collapse for real this time.  

 

After recovering, he forced himself to get to that door.  Teeth clenched, from the aches in his body, he opened the door to see a livid Lassiter.   _Wait...Why was Lassie…_

 

“Spencer, what the _hell—”_ the head detective paused in his grilling to take a closer look at the shorter man.  Shawn knew that he was trembling, and he couldn’t help but lean on the door frame.  “What happened to you?”  Lassiter suddenly asked, eyes crinkling in concern.  

 

“Did’y get my t-text?”  Shawna asked, before bending away to finish his bout of coughing from before.  Everything started getting blurry, and he felt himself being guided somewhere.  

 

“Sit.”  It was a command, but it was surprisingly gentle.  Guttural coughs ravaged his body.  He squeezed his eyes shut, tired of his surroundings shaking.  Finally the fit subsided, and he looked up to see Lassie standing over him.  He looked bewildered, and still at least a little angry.  

 

“I got your text,” he said finally, dangerously.  “And against my better judgement, I decided to get a warrant—which by the way, was _not_ easy—and we did end up finding the thumb in the freezer.”

 

Shawn opened his mouth, then closed it, and finally nodded.

 

“I called you _four_ times.”

 

“Sorry, Dad,” Shawn said, voice hoarse as ever; however, Lassiter wasn’t finished.

 

“O’Hara and I checked the entire house.  Finally, we called Guster, who told us that you were home.”

 

_Oops._

 

Lassie said something under his breath that Shawn didn’t quite catch.  The pseudo psychic was suddenly aware of a cool hand on his forehead.  It was like cuddling a block of ice.  It felt both relieving and terrible at the same time, and he didn’t want the man to take his hand away.  

“You definitely have a fever.  Do you even know how high?”  Lassiter growled.

 

Shawn merely shrugged in response.

 

“ _Of course not,_ ” he sighed.  Without permission, the head detective went into his bathroom.  He was pretty sure he was rifling through his medicine cabinet.  

 

“Don’d you need a war...warrandt for that?”  Shawn croaked.

 

“ _Shut it.”_ Lassiter came out looking distressed.  “All you have is ADD medication and _gummy vitamins._  How the actual hell do you not have advil?”  The head detective was wearing his _I-hate-my-life_ expression.  “Do you even have a thermometer?”

 

Shawn shook his head, and instantly regretted it, moaning at the pain.

 

“I’m going to kill you, Spencer,” Lassiter muttered.  His words may have said that, but his eyes sure said the opposite.  The head detective tried to turn on the nearby lamp, but of course nothing happened.

 

“Electric and heat’re out,” Shawn supplied.

 

Lassie shot him a look of disbelief.  “This is ridiculous!   _You’re_ ridiculous.”  He rubbed his own forehead.  “How do you manage to get yourself _this_ sick, and not do  anything to take care of yourself?  Are you a child?”

 

The full extent of what was happening right now hit Shawn like a falling piano in an old movie.  Here was Carlton Lassiter, the man he had been crushing on for nearly three years, in his apartment, while there was no heating and electricity.  He knew his room was littered with used tissues and dirty laundry, and that his sheets were probably on the floor.  Even Shawn’s living room was a mess.  Most of all, _Shawn_ was a mess, and Lassiter was judging him.  He tried to swallow a pit of despair, as his eyes began to water.  It was just too much.  Everything hurt.

 

“Spencer?” Lasiter asked, as a tear streaked down from each of Shawn’s eyes.  “ _Shawn_?”

 

***

Carlton froze.  His jaw, which had been clenched in frustration now was lowered, leaving his mouth agape.  He was crying.   _Shawn Spencer_ was crying.  The arrogant, happy-go-lucky pain-in-everyone’s-ass was sitting feverish on his own couch in an apartment lacking utilities.  And now he was curled into himself.  It was so pathetic, that Carlton felt a sinking feeling in his stomach.   _He had made him cry._

 

He was reminded of that time when Drimmer almost killed Shawn and him in cold blood.  Maybe it was because of Shawn’s position of the couch, or maybe it was because he happened to think of that moment often.  If Drimmer truly had found all of his guns, Shawn’s brains would have been splattered on the wall right in front of him.  For some reason, that image had haunted him ever since.  He had been in countless stressful situations, but yet that was _by far_ one of the most distressing.  Lassiter saw the way Shawn stumbled into his father afterwards.  Sure, he had saved Shawn’s life, but he had been the one who’d endangered it in the first place.  Because, Shawn believed him.  Without a question, Shawn knew that Lassiter had not murdered that bastard drug lord.  

 

Now Spencer was coughing again.  It was a horrible sound.  He sat next to the so-called-psychic, and placed a hand on his back.  He knew it wouldn’t really do much, but he didn’t want Spencer to think he was mad at him.

 

“Hey...Shawn...take it easy,” Carlton said, beginning to rub his back.  He had no idea what he was doing.  Guns, he knew.  Interrogations, he knew.  Responding to other people’s feelings and needs...well...ask his ex-wife.   

 

“Sorry,” he croaked, before letting out a few final coughs.  If Carlton wasn’t concerned before, he sure was now.  He had a difficult time recalling Shawn apologizing like that.  

 

He couldn’t in good conscious leave the younger “man” alone in this state.  “Can I take you somewhere?  Do you want me to call Guster or your dad?”

 

“Ndo,” he started.  Shawn then sniffled sharply and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand.  “Gus is at work, don’d call my dad.”  

 

“Spencer, you’re really trying my patience,” Carlton growled, though he attempted to keep his cool.  He didn’t need the sick psychic to start crying again.  “You can’t stay here.  There’s no medicine,” he explained calmly.  “I’ll take you to my apartment for now.  That is an order.”

 

***

And that's how Carlton Lassiter ended up willingly driving Shawn Spencer to his own apartment.

 

Shawn always seemed to have an answer for everything. That's why it was so jarring that he was barely speaking. Usually getting him to _stop_ talking was in its own an arduous feat.  It was just _wrong._ There he was sitting in the passenger seat, not even calling ‘shotgun’.  Carlton’s frown deepened when he looked over through his sunglasses to see the dull look in the other man’s eyes.  He feared that his fever was significant enough to require a visit to the hospital. The head detective _highly_ doubted that a manchild like Spencer would even have a solid health insurance plan.  

 

The silence in the car, save for the occasional sniffle or cough, was beginning to make Carlton uncomfortable.  Maybe he preferred silence while he was driving, but not if Spencer was in the car.  It was so unbearable that Carlton turned on the radio.  He found himself going to the known classic rock station that often played songs from the ‘80s.  By the time they arrived at Carlton’s apartment, Spencer had fallen asleep.  

 

Carlton cleared his throat.  “Hey...Spencer!”  When the psychic didn’t stir, he put a firm hand on his shoulder and gave it a little jostle.  Shawn groaned, and his eyes fluttered open.  His hazel eyes looked more on the browner side with the shirt he was wearing.  The head detective took off his sunglasses.  “We’re here.”

 

That blank look was still on the psychic detective’s face.  Carlton opened his own door and Spencer finally did the same.  Without thinking, Carlton wrapped an arm around Spencer’s waist, and to his surprise, he didn’t object or make any comment about it.  He could feel Spencer’s body heat through his clothes.  Ignoring a stare from a resident in the lobby, he lead Spencer to the elevator.  

 

“Are you...doing alright?”  Carlton asked, attempting to break the stifling silence between them.  Of course Spencer was _far_ from alright.  

 

Spencer smiled lazily in response.  “Aw, Carly, you do care.”  He stifled a few coughs into his sleeve.  “Don’dcha have’t go to work?”

 

“Spencer, let’s make something clear.”  Carlton said, tone becoming serious, “I have over two-hundred unused sick days.  I can take off whenever I want.”  Unlike some people, the head detective actually bothered to take care of himself.

 

“Wow, I dod’t thi’k Gus evend ge _hht_ s _ESSCHiuh!_ ugh , vacationd timb.”

 

“...Bless you,” Lassie said as they arrived at his floor.  He regained his grip on Spencer. “Gee, maybe that’s because he has to constantly take off to run around with you and harass the SBPD.”

 

Shawn smiled again, but his eyes were dead serious.  “I kn _d_ ow.”  Carlton always admired how at ease that man could be, even when everything was falling apart.  Well, actually it irritated him.  The way he could keep mouthing off even when staring through the barrel of a gun.  It was juvenile. Dangerous, even.

 

He directed the ill psychic to his couch, and went to look for his thermometer.  Of course Spencer couldn’t just be a little under the weather, he had to be feverish and trembling, and almost completely out of character.  After handing Spencer the thermometer, he went to go grab some ibuprofen from his own medicine cabinet.  He returned, and the thermometer was still beeping periodically as it updated the numbers.  

 

“If it’s too high, I’ll have to take you to the hospital,” Carlton stated, slowly, evenly, as if he were talking to a child.  Spencer nodded, eyes unfocused.  A pang of sympathy hit the head detective square in the chest.  The thermometer beeped, and Carlton practically tore it out from Spencer’s mouth, as if he was afraid he wouldn’t get it back, or that the “psychic” would lie about the numbers.   _103.1._

 

_Shit._

 

It was on the high side for sure, but at least that was as high as it was going to get today.  Carlton would personally make sure of it.  He didn’t like owing people favors.  He knew he still owed Shawn from that run in with Drimmer, and for maybe a few other times.  Spencer was a pain in his ass, but he did solve a lot of his cases.

 

“Alright, that’s not terrible,” Carlton mused.  He tossed the bottle of ibuprofen to Spencer, who promptly dropped it.  Rolling his eyes, Carlton bent over to retrieve it, managing to bump his forehead on the man’s knee in the process.  He growled, but chose to hold his tongue.  Then, he made a show of opening the bottle and removing two dark pink tablets, and handed them to Spencer.  Rubbing his forehead, he went into the kitchen area and got a bottle of water.  He went to toss the bottle, but then stopped himself and walked it over.

 

“Tha’gs, Carly.”  Spencer created a seal between his hand and mouth, dropped the pills in, and took a swig of water.

 

“Don’t mention it.  Ever.”

 

“Aww.”

 

After a brief eye roll to the ceiling, Carlton assessed the situation.  By the situation, he of course meant Spencer himself.  “You can take a shower.”

 

The phrasing sounded like a suggestion, but the look in Carlton’s eyes sure suggested that it was more of a command.  Either way, Spencer looked relieved, and nodded, giving a small ‘thanks, man’.

 

***

 

Lassie had laid out a bath towel, and a white undershirt.  Shawn saw the way he reluctantly handed him a pair of boxers without a spoken word.  The psychic detective wisely chose to not call him out on it.  Lassie was cutting him a lot of slack, and he didn’t need to anger him and send them back to square one.

 

_It’s official, we’ve exchanged clothes now.  What stage of our relationship is this now?_  

 

Shawn hadn’t realized how much he had missed the luxury of a hot shower until he was standing under the steamy stream of water.  He felt his headache beginning to dissipate along with the pressure in his sinuses.  He had seen the thermometer’s reading, despite Lassie’s hastily jerking it away, and was numbly surprised.  Had he really let his illness progress this far without taking any action whatsoever?

 

He had to wonder, though: why was Lassie being so nice to him?  This was the same man who would give a coupon as payment for Shawn’s clearing his name.  Was this way of Lassie thanking him for that event?  Or maybe for Shawn’s helping him solve the murder and subsequent robbery case?  For all of the head detective’s predictability and methodical ways, this had seemed to come right out of left field.  

 

_Maybe he was just growing on Lassie._

 

That was the idea Shawn wanted to believe.  Maybe Lassie was accepting Shawn for the person he is: a liar, a fraud, an irresponsible manchild.  He never bought into the psychic gag.  He knew exactly what Shawn was.  So if Lassie was beginning to like Shawn, he would have his second genuine friend.  Someone he hadn’t fully deceived.  Perhaps even a _boy_ friend.  

 

Showers were always the best place to contemplate things.  

 

Lassie did not have conditioner.  Shawn made a mental note to explain the importance of moisturizing one’s hair later.  

 

***

The shirt was a bit big on Shawn, but the boxers fit fairly well.  He hung the damp bath towel on the hook.  Slowly, he could feel the congestion and aching in his head beginning to return.  He didn’t feel as chilled as before, and assumed the ibuprofen was kicking in.  

 

“Where are your clothes?”  Lassie asked, the second Shawn stepped into the living room.  He had left them in a pile on the bathroom floor.  The pseudo psychic informed him.  Lassie rose from the couch.  “I’ll wash them...just sit down.”

 

Now Lassie was giving the commands.   _Ironic._ Shawn did as he was told all the same.  He wondered how long he would be in the man’s apartment.  Probably about an hour or two to account for the laundry.   _Don’t think about that.  Enjoy the moment.  S_ hawn instantly started coughing, as if his lungs were reminding him to feel terrible.  His head was a bit clearer, but most of the aching in his joints hadn’t completely disappeared.  He wanted nothing more than to curl into the fetal position.  The only thing stopping him was the fact that he had already _cried_ in Lassie’s presence.  

 

Fatigue was beginning to set in again.  Shawn’s eyelids were growing heavier.  The shower had awoken him, but its effects were fading rapidly.

 

Suddenly, he felt like he was falling.  He jerked his body and Lassie was standing in front of him.  He had fallen asleep.  Lassie’s expression wasn’t his trademark deadpan look, nor was it his look of rage.  It was one of those rare looks of unironic sympathy.

 

“You can...sleep if you’re tired,” he offered, setting a refilled glass of water on the table.  “Just drink this first.”  

 

Shawn took a long swig of water, careful not to choke on it.  He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was until the glass was empty again.  “Actually...can we watch TV?”  He usually left the TV on at home at night.  That probably was a habit he would have to break if he wanted to keep his lease.  

 

Lassie turned on _Law & Order, _and took a seat next to Shawn.

 

***

 

Carlton Lassiter seldom took sick days.  In fact, he was famous for that. He could think of maybe three times during the entire course of his career where he did take a day off.  Leisure time was not something he cherished.  

 

Shawn had fallen asleep after fifteen minutes of watching the show.  

 

And now he was leaning on Carlton’s arm.  

 

Was the head detective angry?  No, but it did feel...awkward.  Though he tried not to, he kept stealing glances at the sleeping psychic detective.  Seeing Shawn that still really was a novelty.

 

The plot of the _Law & Order _episode was lost on both of them.  Warmth radiated from Shawn’s skin through Carlton’s rolled-up sleeves.  A voice in his mind screamed at him to wake Shawn, but he silenced it.  There were times when Shawn had given him a break when everything seemed to be falling apart.  Didn’t he owe the man the same?

 

“ _Nn-stop...why...hurts…”_ Shawn mumbled in his sleep.  “ _Please, I’m sorry.”_

 

Then Carlton did something without permission from his brain.  He wrapped an arm around Shawn’s back.  Heat radiated even more from Spencer’s still-feverish skin.

 

Carlton rolled his eyes at himself. What was he doing? For a second, he had wanted to pull Spencer into his chest. He had stopped stirring in his sleep. _Just watch the show, you like this episode._

 

Sleep was beckoning the head detective. Maybe it was the fact that he had stopped moving, or that he had no interest in rewatching that episode of _Law & Order _alone, or that Spencer’s warmth was making him drowsy, but it was inevitable.

 

Shawn’s head was resting on his chest, and Carlton’s arms were wrapped protectively around the former’s waist. _You shouldn't be...whatever._

 

_Cuddling with Spencer?_ Was his last coherent thought before sleep took over.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's been a long time, but here's a little more!

Carlton zoned back into consciousness.  He blinked with disbelief—he had dozed off.  

 

And Shawn Spencer was nestled snugly in his arms.  When was the last time he’d held someone like this?  It must have been Lucinda, his ex-partner. He hadn’t heard from her in years.  Stiffening, he rolled his eyes. Why was he comparing  _ this  _ to his last sexual relationship?  Spencer was a complete goofball. There was no way there could be anything there beyond maybe  _ slight  _ attraction.  And only in the physical sense.  He couldn’t even call Spencer one of his friends.  Not that he really  _ had  _ friends, anyway.  

 

There was something annoying about the way he smiled.  That somehow, despite the younger man’s immaturity, he probably had an unimaginably high ‘number’.  He wondered how many hearts Spencer had been guilty of vandalizing. After meeting  _ both  _ of Spencer’s parents, Carlton could kind of understand where Shawn’s  _ gift  _ had come from.  Though he couldn’t prove it, he was certain that the “psychic” detective was just really vigilant, and a master of deception.  But somehow, he didn’t really mind anymore. 

 

One wouldn’t think that the feverish lump in his arms was some kind of chessmaster or web-weaver.  Unlike Carlton, he lived a charmed life. Until recently, he assumed that he just ran around, flitting from one thing to the other out of being irresponsible.  But in his own way, Shawn had comitted to the SBPD, to his friend Gus, and  _ somehow  _ seemed to be repairing things with his dad.  Hell, he couldn’t imagine trying to reach out to his own father.  

 

Still, he didn’t move.

 

Of course he didn’t; he wasn’t a monster.  Spencer was clearly out of it. He needed rest.

 

_ But it’s not like it’s your job to watch over him.  He’s an adult.  _

 

Carlton dismissed that thought.

 

_ You could just call Guster and have him take his friend.  Hell, it would even make more sense for O’Hara to watch over him.   _

 

_ But...I don’t really mind. _

 

His therapist had encouraged him to explore his thoughts and feelings, rather than to supress them.  Though it caused him  _ physical pain _ , he had to admit that he kind of was  _ enjoying  _ being this close to Shawn.  He didn’t  _ want  _ to let go.  

 

This was getting weird.  

 

Even if he was trying to keep Spencer from falling off the couch, he’d only need one arm.  Surely he’d have some smart alec remark when he saw that. He’d probably pull away in disgust.  

 

_ Well, that’d be rich coming from the guy who demands hugs from you on an almost daily basis. _

 

Carlton’s neck felt warm.

 

The next episode of Law & Order started.  He put all of his focus into it. Spencer began to stir, and subsequently started coughing again.  To his credit, he did turn away from the head detective. This allowed for Carlton to release his hold on Spencer and instead clap a hand on one of his shoulders.  

He couldn’t help but feel sympathy when the fit continued to ravage his body.  For a second, it looked as if the coughing had subsided, but he gasped, and his chest spasmed again.  Carlton patted a shoulder, as if to encourage him.  _ You’re okay.   _

 

_ He should be in bed.   _

 

_ Not my bed.   _

 

_ Why not? _

 

_ That crosses a serious boundary, and is heavily inappropriate. _

 

_ So his jumping on your lap during work hours is…? _

 

“Spencer, you should rest.”  Carlton, hoisted the younger man off of the couch, and began leading him to his bedroom.  

 

“Lassie,” he coughed, “This seems like... _ ugh _ ...the beginning of a porno.”

 

“Grow up, Spencer.”

 

He hoped the psychic detective couldn’t see the redness of his face.  Spencer was able to get into the bed on his own. Carlton didn’t tuck him in or anything like that.  He just stood and watched. As he turned to leave, a hand shot out and grabbed his forearm.

 

“Thank you.”  Shawn said. 

 

Carlton examined him, the younger man’s eyes were bleary still, and he could’ve sworn that he saw a trace of fear.  

 

_ He wants you to stay. _

 

_ Wants you. _

 

_ Options: _

 

  * __Get in bed with him__


  * _Leave_


  * _Stand there or sit on the foot of the bed_



 

 

“I don’t want to leave you alone, especially not in  _ my  _ room.”

 

He saw a flash of amusement cross Shawn’s face.

 

“That would be a terrible idea.  I  _ have  _ been convicted,” he cleared his throat, “Of a felony, after all.”  

 

Carlton rolled his eyes, and stood over the psychic.  This was the first time he had felt this awkward in his own home.  

 

“I’m chilly.”  Shawn said, waggling his eyebrows.  Carlton pinched the bridge of his own nose.  Spencer couldn’t be this sick if he was already insisting on being inappropriately touchy feely with the head detective.  But then looking into Shawn’s eyes, he saw a flash of vulnerability.

 

Carlton sighed.  “Because you have a fever.”

 

“I know.”

 

Carlton manouvered to the side of the bed, and laid on top of the comforter.  “Don’t say one word.”

 

Surprisingly, instead of makig a wisecrack, the psychic detective kept his mouth shut.


End file.
